Let it Pass You
by Soul Music
Summary: Sequel to One Man's Eyes. After imprisoning De Lucai and Massimo behind bars that still leaves ex-CIA, and thoroughly pissed, Agent Monroen on the loose. How far will he go to bring about his revenge and how far will Gibbs go to protect Tony?
1. Chapter 1

**Let it Pass You By**

**by  
Soul Music**

**Chapter One: Only The Fools**

The moment the front door was pushed open, Gibbs was assaulted by the excited yipping of an excited dog, which was much too big to jump up at new comers, but did so anyway. The name on the collar round his neck proudly pronounced his name as Dief, short for Diefenbaker – obviously named by Tony after the television program. In all fact, Dief didn't look a great deal like a wolf, but he was such a mix up of breeds it was hard to pinpoint a species on occasion: there was a mix of German Shepherd in there, probably some Border Collie – but that could just be English Shepherd for all they knew – they'd been told some golden retriever and a smidgen of Irish Setter. But, really, no-one was really sure what the five year old rescue dog was.

Pushing the dog off him, Gibbs removed his dripping coat, soaked through from the only short walk from the car to the front door. It was tipping it down with rain outside. Dief had scampered off into the kitchen, probably hoping for food, or just more attention, who knew? Running a hand over the back of his neck where his wet hair had shaken loose a droplet of water that was running down towards his collar, the silver haired agent made his way towards the kitchen – the site inside making him raise an eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?" He asked, stepping passed towards the forever ready and well used coffee machine.

Seventeen year old Tony looked up from the book open in front of him, a smile plastering his features. Three years had changed a lot; instead of the lanky fourteen year old dressed in smart, expensive suits and shirts, now sat a lean, handsome seventeen year old adopting the casual jeans, t-shirt and no socks look. Didn't mean Gibbs still couldn't ruffle his hair, he hadn't really cut it very short.

"Trying to get rid of me?" The young man quipped, green eyes sparkling in the bright light of the kitchen. Gibbs just turned his head, fixing his son with a calm look. "Fair point." Tony conceded, shutting his book. It wasn't like he'd been riveted to the subject anyway, he was yet to find anyone who was going to be excited by the words _Advanced Chemistry _written on the front of a book.

"And I am leaving in…" He checked the watch fastened to his wrist. "Ten minutes ago. Damn." Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Tony slid off his chair, dragging his book with him and dropping it onto the bag he'd dumped on the floor. "If I run, I can get there…probably. Meh, I can get there." Tony was still calling as he took the stairs two at a time, sometimes three if he got the jump right. Gibbs smiled to himself, sharing a look between himself and Diefenbaker. The dog merely gruffed softly, turning his head onto one side. It was a gormless canine.

Two minutes later, a record time for Tony getting ready, the boy came hopping down the stairs, trying to pull his shoe on at the same time. "I'll be back at…eleven-ish." He called down the corridor, slipping his foot into the shoe and grabbing his jacket off a peg by the door. He turned round just as the jingle of keys flicked through the air. He caught the keys against his chest with surprise.

"Get in the car." Gibbs cheerful voice appeared in the corridor, hand reaching out to grasp his own coat.

"I can drive?" Tony's eyes lit up.

"No."

"But, dad!" He whined, giving his puppy dog eyes. _Those aren't going to work on me, no. They won't Jethro, they aren't going to work. _Gibbs thought to himself, smiling in the darkness.

"When you get your own car, you can drive it whenever ya like, until then I do the driving in. Now, car." He pushed his boy out into the downpour with a firm hand on his back.

"I can walk you know!"

"Not in this weather you can't, sit in the car." Gibbs slid into the driver's side which Tony had just unlocked, snagging the keys to start up the engine.

* * *

Tony recounting the events of his day was more or less an evening ritual for the family. Especially when Tony was cooking. The kid loved the kitchen and wasn't half bad in it either, which made it a perfect place for him to bustle around, occasionally tripping over Dief and rambling about his day. On those rare nights when Gibbs managed to get back in time for the preparation of dinner rather than just the meal itself. He did have more time now than he had before – no longer working weekends for the hell of it – but the long hours of a Federal Agent didn't stop because he had a family. However much he'd like it. But, Tony still had a knack of having the food steaming on the table the minute he walked through the door if he was late. Amazing kid.

"And, there's no difference between Chemistry and Advanced Chem, there's just more of it, so I don't see what they're complaining about, if you don't wanna do the extra work you're lazy?" Tony finished his latest rant on his class mates complaining about the difficulties of Advanced Chemistry. Gibbs was saved by voicing the comment which was right on the tip of his tongue which ran along the lines of 'You're just more intelligent than them' but, he was biased of course. He did have fact to back up his comment; almost all of Tony's teachers had stated, sometimes grudgingly, that however disruptive the kid was he was still clever. But, Gibbs pulled over on the curb on the quiet suburban street where he was dropping his boy off.

"Don't kill them, they don't mean it." Tony rolled his eyes at his father's comment.

"They're more likely to kill me, there are two of them, unfair advantage!"

"They're seven."

"And? There are two of them. Two, dad!"

"Get!" Gibbs indicated the door, winding down the electric window on the passenger side to illustrate his point, letting a brush of cold, wet wind hit Tony's face. With an exclamation of unhappiness, Tony gave Gibbs a mock glare, cringing away from the cold onslaught. Pulling up his collar, the seventeen year old darted out from the car and ran up the path towards the covered porch and front door.

"Tony." The father called from the driver's side. The dark haired boy turned under the porch. "I want you back in one piece." He received a warm smile as a reply. Shaking his head slightly, Gibbs put the car in gear, shifting out into the drenched road and up towards the way he'd come.

Tony rapped twice on the painted wooden door, waiting less than ten seconds before it was unlocked and opened from the inside. Roy smiled at him, stepping back into his entrance hall so the slightly damp boy could step in.

"And there was me thinking you weren't coming, you're picking things up from your dad. Arriving when you least expect it." Roy grinned, waiting as Tony pulled off his shoes and coat to hang them up in the closet. Annie, Roy's wife, appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a long green dress. "Evening Mrs. Cadman." Tony greeted cheerfully, smiling up the stairs. "Where are you off to tonight?" Roy rolled his eyes amiably, adjusting his tie in the hall mirror.

"Dinner with my parents." Annie clarified, taking the stairs carefully in her high heels. "Thanks for this, Tony. They're in the living room. Get them to bed by nine, it's a school night. We should be back by…Roy?"

"Oh, eleven; shouldn't be much after that, and I'll drive you home."

Tony nodded, making his way down towards the sliding door which took him into the cosy living room. Two identical voiced piped up with his name when he entered, two very excitable seven year olds bouncing on the cushions they'd pulled off the two sofas. _Oh, good. _Tony thought as the front door closed.

* * *

The front door opened quietly just after half eleven. The rain was still tipping it down outside, unrelenting from it's constant hammering against the concrete and tarmac. Diefenbaker didn't meet him at the doorway, just looked up from his basket under the warm radiator. Letting out a sigh, Tony hung up his coat before making his way into the living room. Crouching down next to the mixed up mutt, Tony stroked the dog's head, Dief's doleful eyes watching him in the dim light of the light which was only coming from the basement stairs down the corridor.

"So, you're alive then." A voice stated from the doorway, moving closer. Tony raised his head, stifling a yawn.

"Still in one piece, as promised." Pushing off his thighs to straighten up, he stretched his palms towards the ceiling, cricking his neck in the process.

"Up to bed, then." Gibbs shooed, pointing towards the stairs leading upstairs.

"But, it's only like –yawn- eleven thirty."

"Yeah, your point. I will tickle you if you make me." The thread wasn't as hollow as it might seem. Tony thought over this. Tickling, bed, bed, tickling. Yeah, bed. Making a grumbled decision, the seventeen year old turned, moving across to the stairs, his sock covered feet hardly making any noise as he shuffled along.

Gibbs met his son on his way towards his room from the bathroom, a sleepy look in his bright eyes. Smiling paternally, Gibbs put an arm around him, pulling the boy into a brief hug, kissing him gently on the side of the head. Tony frowned slightly, but returned the hug in a slightly perplexed sense.

"I'm only goin' to bed dad, not Cuba for a year." Gibbs rolled his eyes, chuckling softly.

"Night, Tony."

"Night, Dad."

* * *

_A car a block away in the back of a stolen Ford a man shifted his position on the seat, headphones connected to the laptop on his thighs. A pen was in his right hand, the pad of paper on the seat beside him full of small, neat scribbles. The last few read:_

'_A' Left the house at seven forty three. _

_Driven by 'G'. _

_House number 522, opened by subject 'C'_

'_G' returned to house at eight oh three. _

'_G' Stayed in the house main room until nine thirty one, moved to the basement. _

'_A' driven back to the house by 'C' at eleven twenty nine._

'_G' and 'A' move upstairs at eleven thirty five. _

_A small smile quirked the side of his mouth as he picked up his pen once more to finish the day. The comment written at the bottom was short and precise: installed microphones operating perfectly._

_Shutting down the laptop and slipping off the headphones, the driver climbed into the driver's seat, gunning the engine and leaving his position on the parked curb, ready to set up for another day. Tomorrow to be exact. And the day after that. And the one after that._

* * *

**Return of the italics man? Yeah, why not, it's not hard to figure out who he is, we have met him before. Anyway, new story, eh? Slow start, c'mon it's a slow day. You have slow days in a family and fast days, can't all be fast or they'd be no excitement in fast days. That was random. So, there it is. The start of something new? As always, I do not own these characters…well some of them I do, but not the canon characters. I own my own imagination and that's it. Reviews would be delightful, they really would, we all know how much reviews make something worth writing. So, that's all I have for you today, but I'm sure I'll have a reply up quickly. Thanks again**

**Soul Music.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Collide**

The rain had eased up slightly throughout the night, but the continuous pattering was still obvious against the windows when Tony's alarm clock went off. He wasn't sure why he kept the clock by his bed, since he never actually used it as an alarm that caused him to wake up. At seven every morning the beeping roused him from whatever day dream he'd been resting in before he reached over and switched it off. Same every morning, he just ignored the wake up call, preferring to sleep in as much as possible. Of course, he did get up, and was rarely late for something unless he was supposed to be, but the alarm clock was useless.

That particular Friday morning he'd rolled out from under his duvet just before twenty past seven, grumbling to himself as he padded down towards the bathroom. He'd heard the tell-tale signs of his father downstairs, the click of the coffee machine. And the fact that Dief barked at whoever came down the stairs first, no matter what the time was. Ruined the ability to sneak around the house. Taking a quick shower, well, quick under his standards, the seventeen year old made his way downstairs, towelling off his hair with the white towel slung over his shoulder.

"What's the plan, today?" Gibbs asked, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand. Tony shrugged, already a mouthful his way through breakfast. He'd come complete with incredible table manners, but as far as Gibbs could see, he was forgetting most of them the more comfortable he became. This was good enough, really, for him. Swallowing, Tony answered.

"School, that's what I do every day, and I need to drop the check off at the bank before it expires."

"Because not getting your pay would be tragic."

"Yeah, it would, dad! I worked hard pretending to be interesting for those dollars!" Gibbs chuckled softly at Tony's indignant tone.

"And your improved acting skills amaze me." Tony rolled his eyes, filling his mouth once more. At least he didn't talk with his mouth full, and he chewed with his mouth closed too. Those hadn't been relaxed out of him…yet.

"So, what've you got on today? Missing Petty Officer's ear muffs? Drowned Captain's dog, considered murder? Has someone raised the urine samples again?" Segue, a master of here.

"Paperwork." Gibbs corrected him dully, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Aw, c'mon dad! Give me something more interesting, how can I boast that my dad has the best job in the world when all he does is _paperwork_?"

Gibbs ruffled the kid's damp hair, receiving a 'da-ad' in return for his efforts, passing through the doorway to get himself ready for work. Whilst he was upstairs, the house phone rang, the low rumble echoing through the three floors of the house, Tony's footsteps thumped gently on the carpet just as the ringing stopped, indicating that he'd just picked up the phone. The conversation was muffled and Gibbs felt no need to listen in as he pulled on his suit jacket, picking up his keys from the dresser.

Tony had returned to the kitchen table, perching on one of the chairs with one leg dangling down towards the floor. The _Advanced Chemistry _was present again, swirling images and colourful tables producing names of compounds Tony could only imagine how to pronounce. "Anything interesting?" Gibbs questioned, stroking Dief's soft head as he passed the calmly sitting dog.

"Nope, not really. Jake just callin' to ask if I was doing anything tonight. Told him no, he's gunna pick me up from the bank, since Jake's dad lets him drive." Tony emphasised the last line, turning the same puppy dog eyes Diefenbaker used.

"Jake's dad is going to regret that when Jake has an accident and he has to pay the insurance." Gibbs replied with a grin. Tony opened his mouth to reply but found he didn't have a retort for that, so he stuck out his tongue and returned to his book.

Gibbs rolled his blue eyes, continuing, "You're gunna be late, ya know. I didn't bring you up to be late."

"I'm never late! I arrived whenever I want to, down to the second." Tony exclaimed, but he did glance at his watch none the less. "Fine, you win. But, it's just because you want to get rid of me."

Gibbs sighed as an exasperated parent, letting Tony gather up his bag and hang it over his shoulder in silence, flexing his fingers as he took a glance around the room. "Where did I put the-." He cut himself off as Gibbs handed him the exact book he'd just about to ask about. "Yeah, that one. See you when you get home."

Tony had stopped asking when that would be after the times had varied back and forth too much. He didn't mind so much, sure, he enjoyed it more when his dad was around. But, contrary to the popular opinion that teachers seemed to hold of him, he did work incredibly hard on his school work. You didn't live up to your ex-marine, Naval Special Agent dad's example by slacking, now did you?

"Rain coat." Gibbs remarked, coffee cup magically reappearing in his hand.

"Dad! The hood'll mess up my hair."

"And catching pneumonia won't? So, feverish and pale as a bone is in fashion?"

He heard the 'urgh' before the rustle of the raincoat before the door opened and closed. Quiet. The house wasn't usually quiet when he son was around. There was either some quiet music playing through the house from his room, the television or radio on downstairs, or more commonly Tony's voice pronouncing something he found vaguely interesting. Now, it was quiet. Even void of Diefenbaker's yipping.

Well, quiet, but not silent. Setting the coffee mug down, Gibbs listened for a moment. Just on the edge of hearing, very quiet, but very insistent was a soft buzzing. Now, Gibbs knew his house and he knew it very well, he knew what sounds the appliances made and what steps and floorboards creaked. This was a foreign noise. But, the exact location wasn't easily identifiable. Still, he had to get to work, and that noise could just be one of the technical doo-hickies in Tony's room playing up. He'd check that evening.

Ignoring Diefenbaker's baleful whine, Gibbs grasped his coat and jingling his keys ventured out into the downpour.

* * *

_Perfect. How long had he been waiting for this? Months. No, years. An animalistic grin pulled across his thin mouth as he pulled out the Pay As You Go telephone._

"_Bank, today. Get there now and watch it, I'll join you there. Bring everything." There was a pause on the line._

"_Yes, I said everything. This is it, this is what I'-we've been waiting for."_

* * *

The day had passed slowly for Tony. His last lesson had been a full hour and a half of a teacher droning on, and on, and on, and on about the dangers of radiation in sunlight. Biology. Chemistry was bad enough. The rain was still sloshing in the gutters and falling from the sky as if it was on a tight schedule as Tony left the school ground, heading out towards his errand running. Well, only one errand. He was going through a self-sufficiency curve, not wanting to rely on a parent's money, even if it was offered. And now he wanted a car it was coming into play much, much more. That and university, of course. Neither of these things came cheap in this day and age.

He passed few people on his stroll down the road. Most people had opted to take a car to save them from getting soaked to the skin and therefore cold and chilly for the rest of the day. Tony, having a father as protective as Gibbs, was covered in enough layers that the cold wasn't even touching him, and the rain wasn't bothering him either, not even his hair.

The bank had about eight people inside when he closed one of the two bullet proof glass doors shut behind him to keep out the draft. Switching his eyes around, Tony took in the other customers. One, woman – mid thirties. Two and three, woman with small child – twenties and no more than six. Four, man with a walking stick. Five, six, seven, eight, two men standing at a counter talking to two attendants. Nine, Tony himself.

Unslinging his bag from his shoulder, Tony unzipped the top to get to the check he needed to bank into his account for a later date. Walking up towards the counter, one of the two attendants detached them from the other conversation and moved over to him, a smile on his pale skinned face.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"I just need to bank this in." Tony handed over the envelope in which his check had been given.

"Alright, sir, if you'd just come round this corner we can get that for you." Tony followed where he was pointing, his shoes squelching slightly on the stone floor.

The door opened just as he rounder the corner. Footsteps echoed along with the general voices. The door closed.

Moments later the door opened again, there was a brief pause before a shower of gunshots smacked into the ceiling. Someone screamed, someone else yelled, everyone turned.

"Alright, everyone get face down on the ground, now. Fingers interlocked behind your head." The voice was calm, husky…so vaguely recognisable. Four black clad figures, each with ski masks pulled over their faces spread out, large obvious weapons held in their hands.

Now fourteen people occupied the space, the doors were now chained shut and the power had been cut from the outside. A bank robbery, or something deeper?

* * *

Gibbs returned unusually early. The case, the paperwork was done. Nothing to do, why not come home, it was a valid reason. As expected, the house was empty except for the canine, but there was still that incessant buzzing. Standing still in the hallway, listening carefully, Gibbs could just pinpoint the annoying resonance. With Diefenbaker watching with dog-like gormlessness, Gibbs reached for a chair and pulled it to just underneath the air shaft. Standing on the chair brought Gibbs head level with the shaft. The newly screwed in shaft.

Rule nine and Gibbs extracted the screws carefully, pulling the white shaft grate away, peering inside. In the darkness a small green light was flashing. Gibbs had seen hundreds of them before. Transmission Microphone. Federal issue. _Tony._

Gibbs was out the door before the chair clattered to the floor.

* * *

**Hmn…intriguing. Fourteen people, four gunmen. Bank robbery. I'm having fun here, can you guess? So, yeah, that's how it goes. Reviews are amazing, as are readers. Thanks for that. Disclaiming everything really except Diefenbaker, which of course people picked up, which is awesome. And chapter three shall be coming up soon!**

**Soul Music.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Someday the Rain Will Fall**

The floor of the bank was wet from the continuous customers traipsing the weather from outside in. The quiet air conditioning buzz had been shut off at the same time as the power lines had been severed.

With his fingers intertwined behind his head, Tony shifted his eyes towards the head boots of the ski masked criminals, since that was more or less all he could see of those criminals in his current position.

Four sets of boots: black, heavy duty issue. Out the corner of his eyes he could make out one of the bank clerks, the security guard who had had his gun and handcuffs taken off him, lying face down into the cold stone floor. No-one else was visible without completely turning his head. Adding the security guard he'd say fifteen now. Fifteen trapped in this bank which was turning quickly into a dilemma.

There was a soft jingle of bullet casings bouncing on the floor as one of the goons changed his magazine. "Now that I have your _full _attention." The apparent leader's voice drawled unpleasantly. "I'll ask politely for all your ladies and gentlemen to make your way towards the vault." His voice there was something…familiar about it. Horrible familiar. But it had a husky quality now.

Tony raised his head, meeting the eyes of one of the gun men, although his eyes were immediately drawn to the gun rather than the hidden face.

"Come on, up, up, up." Leader Man clapped his gloved hands together, urging his captives to stand. Pushing himself up off the damp floor, Tony brushed himself down whilst taking a skirting look around at the other captives. Green eyes met a pair of pale blue across the room, locked for a moment, one showing barely hidden relief, the other the same barely hidden confusion, before the blue eyes broke the contact.

The vault was an old fashioned turn wheel with the stiff wheel on the outside, the code and safe on its own electricity system. A clerk quaked inside his smart blue uniform, sweat beading on his forehead as Gunman Two, Tony had originally nicknamed him, approached him, weapon in hand.

"Open it," It wasn't exactly a suggestion. Obviously new at his job, the clerk just stared wide eyed at the gun, mouth parted in panic. Rolling his eyes Gunman Two turned to the captives. "Simon." _Ah, name of a captive. Gunman Three is Simon. Mental note, Tony. _Gunman Three, now known as Simon, stepped forward as Gunman Two grabbed the young girl. The mother yelled her protest, but Simon already had her arm in a lock. Gunman Two secured the young girl, who was fighting fruitlessly against his grip. "Now, open it."

The clerk quaked harder, whimpering softly. "Hey!" A voice called from the crowd. Gunman Two and Simon both swung their heads towards the noise. "What you gunna get with the little girl." Tony pushed his way in front of Simon, shoulder back, standing tall. "I'm a much better interrogative hostage. Older, better bait, better hostage, more handsome, better talker, much better company." He gave the little girl a reassuring wink, smiling. Gunman Two considered the boy in front of him before coming to a decision. "Here alone?" He asked curtly, still holding a tight grip on the little girls arm.

"All on my lonesome," He lied smoothly. Gunman Two, in one fluid movement released the girl – Simon releasing the mother at the same time – and pulling Tony towards him. The boy didn't resist. "Hey…Malcolm." Tony started casually, licking his lips slightly as the muzzle rested against his side. "Mind giving me that code?" The clerk whose nametag read Malcolm switched his terrified gaze onto Tony, eyes still wide like a deer in the headlights.

"Urh…um 1, 1, 7 – 6, 1, 6 – 1, 9, 7, 3." Malcolm finally stuttered. Gunman Two jerked his head to Simon, who punched in the code. With a scrape and a heave, the vault door was hauled open. The vault was wide and square.

"Welcome to your new accommodation." The Leader Man's voice called from behind whilst his three goonies shepherded the captives inside, guns in plain and obvious sight. Tony was still being grasped tightly by Mr. Number Two when Leader Man strolled up casually, leaning his gun against his shoulder. "So quick to be a hero, young man. Hmn, we'll remember that."

With a swift swing of the muzzle, the leader caught Tony a glancing blow to the head. Number Two let go of his arm, causing him to stumble straight into the vault, landing heavily on the stone floor. There was a soft, echoing chuckle as the vault door banged shut, a series of soft clicks the tell-tale sound of a locking mechanism.

There was silence for a few moments.

"We're all gunna die! We're gunna suffocate. Oh, lord, oh God." A soft muttering started up from the corner where Malcolm was huddling.

"Suffocate…what's he talking about, Matt??" Asked one of the two men that had been having a heated discussion at the desk to his companion.

"Steve, think about it. This is a vault, full of paper. Paper doesn't need to breath."

"So, this is airtight?" The mother spoke up softly, holding her daughter close.

"Mommy, what's airtight?"

"Shh, Anna, sweetie."

Tony blinked, bringing up a hand to rub the side of his head. "Ow." He muttered quietly. Someone knelt in front of him, a hand falling gently onto his shoulder, another cupping his jaw in a warm grip.

"Seeing straight?" Gibbs soft voice questioned, taking his hand off Tony's shoulder to probe the air hit by the gun muzzle.

"I'm fine, dad. Had worse walking into walls." Tony smiled reassuringly, trying to push his father's hand away.

"That doesn't inspire confidence, kiddo, first time I saw you walk into a wall you knocked yourself out." Gibbs reminded him, switching to check the reaction of Tony's pupils in the dim yellow light offered by the vault.

"I don't remember that,"

"Exactly."

"Okay, bad example. I've had worse falling down the garden steps." They didn't have any steps in their garden. Slightly more satisfied, Gibbs sat back on his heels, glancing up at the other captives. Tony relaxed his tense shoulders slightly, letting out a breath. "How long d'you the air'll last?" Tony broached the silence that had developed, only broken by Malcolm's quiet mutterings. Gibbs shrugged, he really didn't know. "Long enough for us to get out." He replied finally.

* * *

Outside the vault the four gunmen had gathered around the corner, their leader standing calmly with his arms folded. One of them reached up and pulled off his ski mask, breathing a sigh of relief as he was freed from the hot fabric.

"Elliot, what the hell are you doing?" Gunman Two hissed.

"It's not like there are any cameras, and you already know what I look like." Elliot replied obviously, rolling his grey eyes. He was a tall man, well built with a scar across his right eyebrow. Simon turned towards their leader.

"What are we waitin' for, boss? We got the hostages, we got the kid, and we got more than enough. What we doing?" The leader turned his cold eyes onto Simon, looking at him patronisingly.

"We are waiting, Simon, for the negotiator."

They didn't have to wait long.

* * *

The vault opened slowly, the rush of air a cooling breeze from the heat which had been building up quickly. Elliot and Simons stood present, both standing directly straight.

"You, you and you." Simons pointed to three of the hostages, namely Tony, the old man and the female bank clerk, her name-tag reading Siobhan. Getting slowly to his feet, Tony nudged his foot subtly against Gibbs'.

"Stay here and leave the door open, El." Simon ordered, chivvying the three along in front of him. El cocked his weapon evidently. "Any of ya think about running, you'll be runnin' with a hole in ya head." He sneered behind his mask. Gibbs stood calmly, still watching the corner where he'd seen his son disappear. It wasn't just the bank robbery and the device making his stomach twist uncomfortably. It wasn't just the gunman in front of him, he'd faced down worse. No, his son was no longer in his sights and there was a voice echoing down from the main area away from the vault. The words were muffled, but the tone was obvious: it was angry.

Seconds passed slowly, with Elliot standing comfortably in front of the door whilst the rest of the hostages, save Gibbs, huddled at the back, some sitting on the floor, some leaning against the walls.

Minutes passed on, the voice got louder, the words still undesirable, if unheard.

Then there was a scream. Then there was a gunshot.

* * *

**I'm kinda mean, aren't I. C'mon, cliff-hangers are how I keep going. And it's not like you have to wait long. I love reviews, I love readers, I love when I get e-mails saying someone's added this to their story alerts. It makes a writer feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Warm and fuzzy's good. Warm and fuzzy gets more replied. Well, this is a short one. Next one will be longer, or at least more active. Thank you!**

**Soul Music**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Time Goes By Slowly 

There was pure silence in the vault. Even the gunman had kept glancing over his shoulder after the gunshot. There was silence from up the corridor as well, which was far, far more worrying than the lack of conversation here. Gibbs blue eyes were blank, cold. _Leaping to conclusion isn't good. No conclusions needed. _Elliot's fingers trembled on his weapon, flexing them over the muzzle and grip. _He wasn't expecting this. Wasn't in the plan. _If there was no supposed violence, what did this gunman think was going to happen? They had the hostages in a vault, but weren't taking the money. An ulterior motive, that even one of the Gunmen didn't know?

Someone appeared in the corridor, Simon the Gunman with his face still hidden. Couldn't tell if he was shaken or not. "Bring 'em,"

"Which ones?" Elliot asked, regaining his composure.

"He asked for all of 'em, so bring 'em." Simon stood still in the corridor, the light from the banks open area casting a long shadow in front of the gunman. Elliot shepherded the hostages back down the corridor they'd just vacated. Back and forth, back and forth. In the open air, with the skylights letting in the weak light from the rain soaked skies outside, the scene in front was plain as day.

Two gunman stood guarding the three hostages they'd had previously. The female bank clerk, Siobhan, was crying, her shoulders shuddering, hands behind her back. The old man was sitting on the floor, legs outstretched, watching with apprehension, also with his hands secured. And Tony. Tony was directly in the middle of the floor, in his jeans and shirt, arms behind his back, secured by a thick plastic chord. He was standing straight, green eyes flicking back and forth between the gunmen and the hostages. Gibbs gave a cursory glance. No bullet wound, so had the shot been a purposeful miss? The scream had been female, so the bank clerk just getting scared? It was a likely possibility right now.

Tony met Gibbs eyes for a moment and Gibbs stomach twisted at the barely concealed fear in those expressive green eyes. The fact that Tony was holding himself proudly, even with his hands tied roughly behind his back made Gibbs proud to the highest degree.

The phone on the bank counter trilled shrilly as the hostages were herded into the centre of the floor, all kept at least two feet apart, still all standing except for Siobhan and the old man. With exaggerated slowness, a gunman reached forward and flicked on the speakerphone button. His voice was calm and with a hint of glee in it as he spoke. "Have you considered my request?"

"_This would be easier if we had a name. I'm Leo, can I get your name?"_

"No, Leo, you can't. I like my name the way it is, not plastered all over the papers."

"_We can arrange that, we can arrange no press what so ever."_

"And when have the Law Enforcement been able to control the press, hm? No, my requests, I have updated them. If you do not bring me an unmarked white van which will not be followed, tracked or monitored within the next hour I will start killing hostages." His voice was slick and smooth.

"_Releasing a hostage might ensure our help."_

"Did I not make myself clear, Leo? You get me what I want or I start killing hostages. Are you thinking I'm not serious? Do you want me to show you how serious I am!" His voice was rising in pitch and volume, leaning closer to the phone.

"_No – I just."_

"Are you new at this, Leo? You get me what I want or you'll be needing some body bags. Starting with-."

"_Wait! I'll-"_

"Too late, Leo. Too late. Now, which one. Pick a number from one to…five. Any number."

"_What happens when I pick?"_

"You'll have to find out. It's a lucky dip, Leo. A lucky dip for you, maybe not for the outcome."

Tony watched the proceedings, seeking out his father's eyes for a moment, looking for the cool blue support. Gibbs had also turned his head slightly to catch Tony's eye, silent support across the damp bank floor. It was just as the gunman on the phone had started counting down from ten to the frantic negotiator on the phone that Tony's phone rang.

He'd kept it in the back pocket of his jeans and was now shrilly beeping, indicating its want to be picked up. All eyes turned onto the seventeen year old. The gunman stopped counting, turning his head towards the sound. With a jerk of the Leader's head, Elliot stepped up and grabbed the phone from Tony's pocket with only the slightest resistance.

"Jake calling?" Elliot read out from the phone's screen. The Leader smirked.

"_Four seconds, Leo. Three, two. I'll just make the decision for you." _

Raising the weapon, the leader turned his head, eyes glinting and fired.

Tony's green eyes widened suddenly, the scratch of pain was only momentary as the tiny metal rock ploughed through his abdomen. He stumbled back, confusion coloured his usually bright eyes. A warm arm encircled his shoulder, taking his weight as his knees decided not to function any more. Why was it so cold here? He felt himself lean back against something warm, a hand covering the almost numb area on his stomach. Almost numb.

Never had Gibbs moved so fast. The gunshot was muffled into the background by the gut wrenching gasp from Tony. With a burst of speed, Gibbs had been at Tony's side in a moment, bearing the boy to the ground when his legs gave way. His boy had a glazed, shocky look in his expressive eyes, a trembling in his shoulders.

"Tony?" He muttered, bringing a hand around to cover the spreading red smudge on his son's shirt. Swallowing inside, Gibbs pressed down on the wound with one hand. Tony cried out, snapping back to reality, pushing his head back against Gibbs' shoulder.

"Shh, its okay, it's okay." Gibbs murmured, bringing up a hand to stroke through the boy's thick hair. Tony gritted his teeth together, turning his head into his father's shoulder. Footsteps made Gibbs turn his head. The leader was standing over the two, gun still in his hand. There was a wide birth between the three and the rest of the banks company. Even the other gunmen were standing around, shifting nervously.

"So glad you could make it, Agent Gibbs." The gunman drawled, pulling off his ski mask.

"Monroen," Gibbs voice was barely more than a deadly whisper. He felt Tony tense in his arms, but just carded his hand over the boy's head, keeping the pressure on the wound.

"So nice you remember me. But, it's not really under the best of circumstances, now is it? I'm sorry I had to do such a _horrible _thing to young Anthony, but it had to be done."

Gibbs wasn't buying a word of it, why would he? The man had just shot his son, his Tony in cold blood. And now his son was attempting to tense his jaw against the shuddering which was uninvitingly scaling his body. Gibbs just tightened his grip, eyes glaring holes through Monroen's head. If only those glares could be bullets.

"Why? That is just a ridiculous question, Agent Gibbs. I did it because I could, because you took away my life. Jail is not an option for people like us, Agents like us. We put people away, we don't get put away."

"You're…not an…agent." Tony coughed out, pain evident in his voice, even if the gritted teeth weren't an indication. Gibbs resisted the urge to smile proudly, actually smiling wasn't something he could do right now, not with Tony cringing away from the pain, even if he was trying to hide it. One hand was wrapped up in Gibbs jacket, fingers curled around the fabric whenever the pain took. Gibbs had taken the opportunity to release the tight bonds holding Tony's hands, Monroen didn't seem to notice.

"No, I'm not. Not any more! Because of you and the piece of filth you call a s-."

"Shut your mouth now, Monroen." Monroen snorted, fingering his weapon lovingly.

"Or what? You want the same treatment as Anthony?"

"You took over a bank to just get at Tony. Why?"

"Collateral damage." Monroen smirked.

"Attempted murder…robbery, breaking and…entering into a bank vault. Looks to me like…you're going to…jail." Tony managed to mutter, but his voice was tight, constricted. The look in Monroen's pitiless eyes made Gibbs move his hand to shush his brave boy, keeping his head resting on his shoulder. If he was talking, he was still awake.

"Smart mouth he's still got. Maybe we should get that beaten out of him sometime?"

Gibbs kept his mouth shut, but his eyes held the perfectly clear message of 'touch him and it'll be more than just a round going through your thick skull.'

Monroen laughed coldly, straightening up as the phone rang.

"Tony?" Gibbs voice was soft, gentle.

"Hey, dad." The boy replied, forcing a smile as he turned his head to look up towards his father, unshed tears glittering in his green eyes.

"Just rest, it's going to be alright."

"I know, dad. I know it…will be." Tony swallowed, shivers running up his spine as something shifted under Gibbs hand. He clenched his teeth together, tightening his fist on Gibbs' jacket.

Fixated on Tony for the moment, Monroen's conversation hadn't been put on speaker and Monroen had only spoken three words throughout the conversation before he hung up.

"Not good enough."

Swaggering back over to the father and son, Monroen drew Gibbs attention, his head on one side as Simon walked casually up behind and smacked Gibbs across the head with his rifle. Hard.

The crunch was sickening, Tony's gag reflexes kicking in as Gibbs crumpled to the floor, catching himself with one hand just before he too hit the deck.

"Dad!" He cried, ignoring the wrenching pain in his side as he turned over, attempting to crawl back over to Gibbs. Two hands grabbed at his shirt collar, wrenching him backwards to his knees, an arm securely around his throat. That didn't stop him struggling. He lashed out with a fist, only to connect with the thick thigh muscle behind him. He heard a pained grunt, but was stopped from doing anything further as a foot connected harshly with his side.

Usually that would hurt in itself, but now it was a nauseating, stomach churning smack of pain which sent the world into black smudges over his vision. Through his matted haze he could make out the still form of Gibbs on the cold floor before the world slid into inky darkness.

* * *

**I'm so, so sorry for the delay, and the shortness of this chapter. Many apologises to everything. I know I promised a quick update, but stuff, you know. Anyway, looking forward, there it is! I do love the reviews, it makes writing this so much easier, although I could ask now if you wanted me to have more angst or not, but I like angst so I think I'll keep to it. Anyway, yeah, reviews would be like warm chocolate fudge cake on a cold day. Nice thought. And I'll get a new chapter up ASAP my faithful readers, love ya all!**

**Soul Music.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Keep Up This Charade**

Pain returned slowly; then all at once. The throbbing of his side was beating in time with the quick jumble his heart was making, the pounding in his side giving harmony whilst his sore stomach was beating the baseline. In short, it hurt. Squeezing his eyes shut, the boy rolled his head slightly, the cool floor against his forehead. He swallowed thickly, moving his arms sluggishly to wrap his arms around his middle, wincing when his hand rubbed over the hole in his shirt where the bullet had torn through without mercy. The bleeding had stopped making a mess of the floor, but the orchestra of pain was still working its way through each part of his body.

Moaning softly into the floor, Tony felt a hand on his shoulder, gently rolling him back. He complied with the wishes of the hand, but it wasn't like he had any options. His back leant against the cold floor, the dim light from the skylight above burning through his eyelids.

"How are you feeling?" A soft female voice asked somewhere above him. Tony cracked an eye open, swallowing again. Blinking a few times as the world swam in and out of focus. Three dark figures – no, wait it was just one dark figure – loomed above him, slowly coming into constant focus. He groaned softly, letting his memories click together like a dysfunctional jigsaw puzzle. Snippets of Technicolor pain flickering across his memory, interlocking with the past few minutes since he'd lost it all to darkness. The face above came into focus – Anna's, the little girl, mother. Anna was holding tight to her mother's arm whilst Tony tried to breathe normally through his own personal symphony of aches.

"Where's my dad?" Tony asked suddenly, memories clicking into place. He attempted to sit up, but really only managed to push himself up onto his elbows before his heartbeat juddered through the shootings of his nerves. He hissed. The same female hand fell on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't worry yourself, you need to rest." Tony remembered, sometime before the lights had gone out, that he'd been given her name. If Siobhan was the clerk then Annas' mother's name began with a C…Catherine, Catie. No, wait. Cara. That was it. Cara and Anna.

"Where is he?" Tony refused the answer and option of rest and pushed himself up again, this time making it up to a full sitting position. He cast bleary eyes around the space. Still fourteen people huddled on the floor, still four dark clothed men with formidable weaponry. Still Gibbs lying on the cold floor, a jacket of some sort folded under his head. Ignoring the shaking in his shoulder, Tony scrambled across the floor, his breathing shallow.

"Dad?" He muttered, green eyes paling with worry. Cara had joined him. "Has, has he woken up?" The quiet undertone of despair in the young boy's voice made him look so much younger, his complexion an unhealthy pale. Cara paused at the question, but when Tony tore his eyes away, fixing her with his green eyes she sighed.

"No, sweetie, he hasn't." She replied softly. The brief flicker of hope that had danced in those green eyes vanished like a candle being extinguished.

"Dad." Tony swallowed. "C'mon, you gotta wake up now, it. It's just-."

"Ah! Well, it seems one of our Sleeping Beauties has returned to us." Monroen's triumphant voice echoed across the space. Tony immediately tensed, memories assaulting him.

_The world came back slowly for Tony. His side was killing him, the damp sticking to his shirt and skin. _

"_You said you'd be a better hostage, and you're correct." Monroen was crouching in front of the boy slumped against the wall. "I was thinking you weren't going to come round for this fun."_

"_Back…off." Tony coughed out, his shoulders tensing up._

"_Not nice. Really not nice. I think Bryn can help me teach him a lesson." The last gunman to be named appeared in Tony's line of vision, but his sluggish reflexes stopped him blocking the big man's advances. Bryn hauled the seventeen year old up, holding him up bodily against him. Monroen watched him, mockery in his empty eyes._

"_Still very young, aren't you Anthony; so much to give the world. Seems you've ruined your chances somewhat. Hmn." Monroen moved fast, bringing a fist with a sickening thump into Tony's stomach. _

_Tony gagged, trying to double over but Bryn's arm around his chest prevented any movement. There were muffled gasps from the assembled prisoners, and even a sob from Siobhan. _

"_You see, you ruined my future. I had it all planned out." Another smack in the stomach. "I had a good job." Smack. "I had a good life plan." Smack. "I had a house." Smack. "I had a family." This time he went for the chest, knocking the air from Tony's lungs. Smack. Crack "You were a scrawny kid with nothing going for you." Smack. Crack. "You stole that from me!"_

"_Stop it!" A high, female voice called desperately. The flurry of blows ceased, leaving Tony sagging in Bryn's grip, gasping to bring his lungs back into working order. Monroen turned, fire burning in his face. Cara unconsciously tightened her grip on her daughter, but refusing to regret her outburst, the poor boy was spent._

"_Bryn." The command was short. Tony hit the floor hand, coughing weakly, resting his head on his forearm. His torso was on fire, the nerves firing mercilessly through his body with each breath. For good measure, Monroen brought back a foot and let it strike brutally into Tony's already wounded chest. The boy jerked, the muscles in his body tensing, which didn't help along with the pain. _

"_Why did you stop me?" Monroen's voice was quiet as he addressed Cara._

"_Because…because I'm a nurse and-."_

"_And you want to help him. How admirable. Go then, help." _

_Cara eyed him warily, pulling her daughter along with her as she made her way over to Tony's crumpled form. _

"_Hi there." She greeted softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. He shuddered away from the touch, his eyes snapping open, focusing on her._

"_Calm down. My name's Cara, this is my daughter, Anna. I'm a nurse. I just want to take a look at you." Her voice was calm. He watched her for a few moment before nodding minutely._

"_Okay. I need to get you on your back. Can you do that?"_

_Another nod. With a tremendous effort, Tony managed to bite back the scream and manoeuvre himself onto his back, screwing his eyes shut, one hand clenching against the floor. _

"_That's good. Can you tell me your name?"_

_Tony managed to choke out his name, ignoring the fact that he could've used the three syllable version but just went straight for the nickname, hell it was less time spent talking. At this point in time, that was a very good thing indeed. Especially when Cara had already started pressing gently over his abdomen, avoiding the sparked area of the blood soaked bullet wound._

"_Okay, Tony. I know it hurts, but that would be the cracked rib." Cara reported as lightly as she could, her eyes casting a sympathetic look at the young boy._

"_How is our little hero holding up?" Monroen's slimy voice asked off to Tony's right. _

"_Just well…enough for you to leave." Tony ground out, refusing to bring his eyes up to look at the ex-CIA Agent. _

"_Still with his humour. Apparently his lessons didn't sink in very well. Bryn."_

"_No! He's just a boy." Cara's voice pleaded softly._

"_Alright then. Bryn, take the girl."_

_This time it was Tony's go to protest. His growling protest made Monroen laugh harshly. "Like father, like son." Tony's closed his eyes as Bryn's thick forearm closed around his chest, hauling him upwards once more._

_Darkness, this time, was a blessing._

The phone was ringing again. Tony was crouching over his stomach, forehead almost leaning on Gibbs' slowly rising and falling chest.

"It's getting late, Leo. What have you to tell me?"

There was a pause on the line which Monroen had put, once again, on speakerphone. _"We can get you a van, but you'll have to release at least some of the hostages."_

"Some of them, you say. Not all of them?"

"_The injured hostages."_

"How can you tell they're injured? Oh, the gunshot. Well, that would give it away. Yes, I will release…three of the hostages. That leaves me with plenty."

"_Four."_

"You're trying my patience, Leo."

"_Four and I can assure you passage through the city."_

"Can you now? Four it is."

The phone call was abruptly ended. "Simon. I think we need to release the girl; she's of no use to us. Who else?"

Simon sidled over leisurely over towards Monroen, looking over the hostages as he did so, the same glint of malice mirrored in his eyes as in Monroen's.

"The bank clerks annoying me, stop her whimpering, and the other clerk, can't stand his face. The old man isn't much of a hostage if he can't do anything."

"Settled, four it is, if you four would all like to follow me."

Malcolm, the make bank clerk, helped the old man to his feet since his walking stick had been taken and trashed somewhere unknown, leading the way towards the door.

"Go on, Princess." Cara muttered to her young daughter when Elliot loomed up behind them with Siobhan.

"I don't want to go, mommy,"

"It'll be alright, sweetheart, just go with the nice lady here." She indicated Siobhan, who held out a slightly shaking hand to the young girl. With a last pleading look in her wide brown eyes, Anna stuck close to Siobhan, looking back at Cara as the procession of four were shepherded towards the bank doors.

"What's wrong with him?" Tony murmured, brilliant green meeting with Cara's gaze. The nurse sighed softly.

"He's just unconscious, Tony."

"But, why isn't he waking up? He should've woken up by now." The boy's voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"I don't know, sweetie. We'll get him to a hospital and we'll find out. Okay?"

Tony turned back to the slow rise and fall of one chest, trying to ignore his own stuttered breathing rhythm of his own.

"Dad, I know…you can hear me, and…I. And I don't want…to whine, but…can you wake up…soon. I don't under…stand. Just, please." His voice was barely audible, but Cara caught the soft plea, resting a gentle hand on the boy's head for a moment. Offering what comfort she could.

Time passed, but how much was a mystery. There was silence in the cold bank, the only sound the thud of the heavy duty gunmen's boots as they occasionally stepped back and forth across the floor. Conversation had died. Even the phone calls had ceased. The waiting was worse, perhaps even worse than the beatings. Whilst the punches hurt, the aftermath was causing darker smudges around the edges of his vision that he couldn't blink away. But, he couldn't fall asleep; he was standing sentry over his father. They weren't getting near him.

He didn't care how badly hurt he was, he didn't care how many bones he'd had snapped in half, torn from tendons or ripped from joints. As horrible as it might sound, emotional pain would always outstrip physical. Always. First hand knowledge of that he'd had. The psychological damage was a silent killer, whether by natural causes of distraction or the physical act of suicide. A silent murderer in each case.

Minutes before Tony had lost the struggle to keep his head up and instead had let his forehead rest on Gibbs' chest, trying with the rest of his strength just to keep his eyes open.

* * *

The day had passed slowly in the bullpen of NCIS. The morning had been filled with the prospect of, you guessed it, working on paper. Roy leant back in his chair, stretching his palms towards the ceiling, stretching out his stiff shoulders.

"You almost done, Pete?" He asked across to his partner, who had been stubbornly starting at the same phone record for the past twenty minutes.

"If I said yes it would be a lie. Why do people make so many phone calls?"

"On average people make over 10,000 phone calls a year." Roy replied knowledgably. Dalrym looked up with a frown.

"You just made that up."

"That obvious, huh?" Roy grinned, glancing around the bullpen. It might be Friday, but there still wasn't a great deal going on. Occasionally the elevator would ding, but that was more because the photocopier on this floor had broken and if anything needed to be copied the copier would have to take the trek to another floor.

A phone started its endless droning call from one of the empty desks, pulling both agent's attention towards it. The phone was situated on their boss's desk, but their boss had left a good few hours ago.

"You gunna answer it?" Dalrym asked after a full minute of ringing.

"Why me? You're closer."

"No, I'm not and you're senior agent. It could be something important."

"Fine." Roy conceded, pushing himself up from his desk and grabbing the still ringing phone.

"NCIS, Special Agent Gibbs' desk." He answered clearly.

"_Mr. Gibbs? It's Jake. Do you know where Tony is because I tried to-."_

"Woah, wait a minute. Who are you again?" Roy asked, sitting on the corner of Gibbs' desk.

"_Have I got the wrong number? Not Mr. Gibbs."_

"No, it is, but Agent Gibbs isn't here. Can I take a message?"

"_Urm. I don't know. Do you know where I can find him, there's no answer at home. It's about his son."_

"Tony? Okay, so, it was Jake, right? Just explain everything."

"_Well, I was supposed to meet Tony at this bank and we were just goin' out, but when I got to the bank there was all these police vans and press and stuff, and I tried to call Tony but his phone didn't pick up then there was this strange tone like it had been switched off or something, but Tony never switches his phone off. And I wanted to know if…urm, if his dad knew where he was. They say its some sort of hostage thing in there and I can't find Tony and-."_

"Which bank, Jake?"

Jake told him and Roy thanked him briefly.

"C'mon, Pete. We've got a situation."

Peter Dalrym looked confused for only a moment, but he was still grabbing his holster and gun at the same time, following his partner towards the elevator, matching the grim look on Roy's face.

The drive in the still pouring rain was a silent one after Roy had filled Dalrym in. Rounding the corner with a skid that would've made Gibbs proud the two agents came face to face with the assembled law enforcement. Flashing lights were everywhere, a marquis set up to keep the rain off. Roy didn't even bother locking the car as he strode out with his ID in hand, pushing through the ranks and ignoring the shouts of reporters, letting Dalrym push the cameras out the way. After a few seconds of heated argument, Roy and Peter were pushed towards the marquis.

"Special Agents Cadman and Dalrym, NCIS."

"What has NCIS got to do with this?" A young officer asked, his hair slicked back from the constant downpour.

"We have reason to believe one of our men and his son is in there, and it looks like you could use all the help we can give." His usually bright disposition was calm, serious and dark, his blonde hair darkened by the rain. "So, what's the situation, Mr…"

"Leo Tyler. They've asked for a van, unmarked, untracked, alone."

"Injuries?"

"I'd say at least one, we heard a gunshot and they've basically confirmed a hit. They released four of the hostages, none of them injured, we're questioning them now."

A uniformed officer jogged up, shaking his head free of the water. "Confirmed two injured. One beaten, one unconscious, blow to the head. We're going to have to storm it, Leo." The negotiator sighed. It was almost a black mark on the history of a negotiator if violence had to be used to gain entry, especially if violence had already been used against them. Leo opened his mouth, but the uniform cut him off.

"No, Leo. You've had hours, you did a good job. Got hostages released, it's in our hands now."

"Not just yours." Dalrym cut in, stepping forward beside Roy. "We're in on this too."

"Who are you?"

"NCIS."

"We don't go with Feds."

"Do you really want to argue about this? Waste _more _time? There has been someone beaten in there, you don't know how badly, you don't know how often. There is someone unconscious in there, without medical attention you don't know if they will stay unconscious or if they will die. Do you want that to be on your conscience because you were having a jurisdiction battle?" Roy's voice was cold and calculated. The uniform stared at him for a moment with angry eyes.

"Fine, stay behind and follow _my _orders. This is my operation. Are we clear?"

"As crystal."

"Oi, Wilson, get these two jackets."

"We've got our own, Captain. Let's just get this over with."

The Captain huffed, but conceded, moving over to his own SWAT team who were standing by in their black sided van, on edge for the word of action. Roy switched his gaze to Dalrym and gave a nod, following the Captain into the downpour.

* * *

The hostages had been moved, huddled in the far corner of the bank. Even Gibbs had been pulled bodily across the floor, Tony staggering behind him with protests, leaning heavily on Cara. The nurse had been careful to position Tony next to his father, but the boy's waning energy hadn't been enough to keep him upright. His head now rested, once again, on his father's torso, his eyelids flickering ever so slightly. The black smudges obscuring his vision almost completely.

It was a dark haze of pain and misery and worry. An agonising rhythm of his heart beating against his battered ribs, the excruciating throb of his side in harmony to the cacophony of pain screeching through his chest. A mournful symphony of ache delivering it's miserable tune through his brain.

He didn't notice the screams or yells. He didn't notice the explosion of the door. He didn't notice the thunk of bullets. He didn't notice the random sweep of small red dots. He didn't notice the smack of body's against the floor. He didn't notice the shouting, the instructions, the voices. He didn't notice the man crouching down beside him, didn't register the word 'Emergency Medical Technician' sewn into his uniform.

No. The darkness had already slid his eyelids shut, the pain fading dully.

* * *

**I did try to make it longer. Yeah, I'm going crazy here, just a little anyway. So, what you thinking, oh faithful reader? Am I going in the right direction, am I going backwards, forwards or sideways. I wouldn't know myself. I love your comments, they really help. If you have anything you'd like to see don't hesitate to ask, it's like a request, I do requests, I've done a few in my time, I love doing them. Gives me ideas. I'll stop rambling now since I'm actually writing the next chapter at the same time. Weird isn't it. I should do a disclaimer: I own nothing canon, just the inventions of my imagination. Done, awesome.**

**Soul Music.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: You're The Truth, Not I**

Roy ran a hand over his chin, gun still held in his hand. The place was a mess; the bank floor covered in a snaking spider's web of blood trails and trapped flies of bullet holes. He shifted a foot back as a particular trail drifted its way across the floor towards where he was standing. Dalrym appeared next to him, sliding his own gun into his holster.

"I called Ducky, he's on his way," The junior agent reported, casting a look across the bank floor. Metro PD had already brought in the thick sheets to obscure the gruesome bodies. Apparently the siege had been text book, exactly to plan. Nothing went wrong. Sure, four dead bodies, only one injured hostage. Was that text book? Apparently NCIS operated on a very different school text book; maybe FLETC had changed the syllabus since Roy had been there. He'd been a sailor until he joined NCIS, served his time on a ship, and enjoyed his time on base when it had just been him and Annie. Well, that had been before they were married, but the point was still there. A naval man through and through.

Dalrym had been an NYPD cop before his recruitment to the Service; maybe he'd understand this 'textbook' phrase better.

The gunmen were spread across the floor, each with their own coned number singling them out. Two were on their back; one slumped against the counter and one on his back, staring up forever more at the bank's skylight.

_The doors had smashed open with enough force to stop a hurricane in its tracks. The glass splintered like plywood, shattering towards the stone floor in a cacophony of sound. Shouted commands were lost in the volley of expert gunfire that was released from both sides. Roy skirted the edge, the corner of his eye finding out the fourth gunman he so wished he didn't recognise. With his partner at his side, eleven rounds were squared off from the two NCIS standard issue weapons even before Monroen could raise his despicable shotgun. The former CIA agent's body jerked eleven times, the final time his head snapping back with the force of the round hitting his temple. The clouds of dust drifted, replaced only by the eerie silence. Monroen's body twisted as it fell, hitting the floor with a light 'flump', blank, emotionless eyes staring towards the skylight until the sheet was brought to cover the sight._

Roy slipped his old magazine out of his gun, pocketing it in one of the pocket she could reach through his bullet-proofer and replaced it with a sharp snap which echoed around the old fashioned bank. The hostages had been herded out by the black helmeted SWAT team with only slightly more care and attention than the gunmen before hand. Both had had a job to do. But, three hadn't left, three had stayed put, one only moving through protest.

_When Monroen's body dropped, Roy was able to have a full look across the bank floor. He was the first to start moving towards the hostages, dodging around a bloodied body. The corner they were cowering in was crowded, and it wasn't surprising the flinch that ran through the captives. So long kept in the dark with nothing to watch except the movement of those long barrelled beasts. There were few soft words of comfort as the Metro PD arrived, but the words that were spoken were meant for reassurance. The remaining members of the captive society were removed, but Roy hadn't bothered paying attention. The sight he and Peter had been drawn to was heart breaking._

_The boy they'd come to know as a frequent visitor to the third floor NCIS building lying huddled against their indestructible superior. A young woman was kneeling close, as if afraid to let either slip away. Roy knelt down quickly, pressing two fingers to Tony's neck whilst Peter bent down to do the same to their boss. _

"_Weak and rapid." Roy muttered, "Hey, we need an paramedic here!"_

"_Make that two!" Dalrym chipped in, even though the Gibbs' eyelids were fluttering._

"_What happened, briefly?" Roy asked quietly to the woman still kneeling close. _

"_They…he shot Tony. It started bleeding again, they beat him pretty badly. He's in shock, and…and he hasn't woken up since," _

"_Okay, what about Gibbs?" Roy gently took Tony's shoulder, moving him slightly to reveal the tear in his shirt. He placed a palm on the wound, pressing down._

_The woman looked confused for a moment, but quickly registered the only other person present would be the man, Tony's father. Tony Gibbs, nice name._

"_Uhm, he was hit by one of the-the men. I checked for a concussion, I think he has one."_

"_How long's he been unconscious?" Peter asked, dark eyes watching as his boss stirred, turning his head when the hurried footsteps caught his attention. EMTs._

"_A-about, forty minutes."_

The rest was a blur. A blurry wash of activity. A stretcher brought out before a second pair of paramedics appeared out of nowhere. Fresh blood had marred the clotted blood attempting to stop Tony bleeding out from the brutal gun shot. The bruises were forming quickly, colouring his pale face and chest in a mirage of purples. Even as the EMTs moved the boy carefully, Gibbs blue eyes had fluttered, blinking open. The first movement. Now there was no there near the spot Roy was standing. He'd watched the EMTs jog quickly away beside the wheeled backboards. Blood was still tricking across the floor, and not the blood of a gunman. No, this was the bright crimson life of a loved seventeen year old splashed across the cold, stone floor without mercy.

"C'mon Pete, let's get to the hospital." Roy's hand was still etched with that boy's blood, but he ignored it, tearing off the Velcro holding his bullet proof vest together. The blonde agent turned, making his way across to the ruined doors, Dalrym following behind. They car was the same placed they'd parked it just over an hour and a half before, the rain had eased up somewhat, but the wheels were still dripping, water running down the wind screen as if in a hurry to be somewhere.

Dalrym slid behind the driver's seat without a question, Roy didn't particularly like driving but he had to do it with two kids, and one on the way.

A hospital waiting room is never going to be someone's favourite place. It was the area of limbo where worried relatives, friends or maybe just acquaintances who had witnessed an accident paced back and forth wearing trenches in the cheap carpet. The chairs were usually occupied and the floor was hardly comfortable. Then again, if you were lucky enough to snag yourself a chair you were most likely going to find it impossible to get comfortable, no matter what position you sit in. And this was where they found Ducky. The pathologist was looking grim, but not depressed. Small favours.

"Any news, Duck?" Roy asked, pushing the door open. Surprisingly it was occupied only by the pathologist rather than the scores of other people that usually arrived mingled.

"I'm afraid Tony's still in surgery, and Jethro has been taken to Resuscitation."

"Any chance we can see him?" Roy was still standing straight whilst Dalrym had taken a seat to rest his weary legs, the adrenaline seeping away. It had been a rather action filled day already.

"Not until they bring him off observation. Which seems what you should be on as well, Royce." Ducky indicated the red smudge across Roy's otherwise clean shirt.

"It's, um, Tony's." Roy murmured, decided to take Peter's example, sinking into one of the cushioned chairs, Ducky took one across from the young agents, the silence drawing out until it was almost tangible.

* * *

The Resuscitation room was teeming with pale blue cover-alls and white masked medical staff.

"Male, seventeen, gunshot to the abdomen, four broken ribs."

"He's going into shock."

"He's gone into shock!"

"BP's dropping."

"Pupil's dilated."

"He's still bleeping out, where is that OR?"

"There isn't one free."

"Then clear one!" The voice was a sharp command from the doctor that sent the room into silence.

"Now!"

"OR 4's prepping."

"BP's 90/50, and dropping."

"Damn! This kid is going hypertensive. Prep faster."

"They can't!"

"Do you want this kid to die? Because that's a whole lot easier than making him live. Prep it faster!"

That OR was prepared in record form.

* * *

Gibbs woke slowly, the bounding in his head similar to a chorus of a thousand bass drums beating out the national anthem. Licking his dry lips, Gibbs cracked open a eye, immediately closing it at the onslaught of light.

"I'll close the curtains." The familiar cultured voice informed him just before the light burning through his eyelids dimmed. This time it was much easier, and less painful, to slide an eyelid up.

"How are you feeling, Jethro?" Ducky had returned to his seat, closing the book he'd had propped open on his knee. Gibbs let the blurry puzzle of memories form together into.

"Tony! Where's Tony?" His voice was scratchy and soft, even though the urgency was almost a painful tinge. Ducky sighed.

"You need to calm down, Jethro, you've had stitches."

"Ducky, where is Tony, tell me." Those blue eyes, sparkling with worry, hiding the clouding of pain which was sinking in between the pupils.

"Tony's in Recovery, he only just left surgery."

"Surgery? How long? I've gotta see him."

"Jethro, no!" The force in the Medical Examiner's voice briefly stilled the father as he attempted to pull over his hospital blanket. "You are known for ignoring doctor's notes, but you cannot set that example at the moment. You have only recently come round from a concussion and I mean not for you to pull your stitches out."

"Ducky, my son was _shot._ I need to see him."

"And he needs you to be capable of remembering him when he recovers. You are no used to your son with brain damage!" It was so rare for the pathologist to stand up and argue with him that Gibbs was once again momentarily set back, but that didn't set him back for long.

"Ducky-."

"Jethro, if you do not return to your bed I will have no choice but to call from them to sedate you." Gibbs ignored the warning, easing himself into a sitting position. The doctor sighed heavily, pressing the call button before Gibbs could stop him. No-one wanted the irate father sedated, not the nurses who had to battle the agent against his will, not the friend who was trying to look out for his health when his friend wouldn't, not the father who wanted nothing less than to see his son without the pale tinge of agony. No-one, but life works in ways no-one can comprehend.

* * *

Recovery was a long room filled to the gills with bleeping, whooshing and scraping machines. And this was the symphony which assaulted Tony as his consciousness drifted back from its vacation. His throat felt raw and scratchy. And he felt oh, so tired. Without even bothering to let his green eyes see the light of day, Tony drifted back to sleep, before the pain could start letting itself known.

A Recovery Room nurse looked up from the patient she'd been changed the IV for as the heart monitor connected to the youngest patient in the room skipped slightly. Finishing her task, the nurse moved over to the boy, practised eye glancing over monitors.

"Everything alright, Marie?" The voice of a doctor came from behind her. Marie turned, smiling gently.

"Everything's fine, Doctor Runyon." She reported, glancing softly over the patient as the doctor picked up his chart.

"Oh yes, the lad from the bank robbery, I had one man from there in Recuss." Mark Runyon had been a doctor for many years, he'd treated many head injuries, some worse than others. His eyes scanned over the page on the chart. "Gibbs." He muttered under his breath.

"Pardon, doctor?" Marie asked, catching the muttered word.

"Gibbs." Runyon repeated, looking up from the sheet. "The same name on both patients. Marie, they're father and son."

"Oh, how horrible!" Marie sighed, brushing a hand over the boy's still forehead.

"Definitely not how I would like to spend my Fridays." Runyon concluded, placing the chart back on the end of his bed. Mothers and daughters he could deal with, fathers and sons could get rather more complicated.

"Marie, when this patient comes round, see he's moved to the same room as his father."

"Doctor?" Runyon turned, hands slipping into the pockets of his white coat.

"True me, Marie. It'll cause a lot less hassle in the long run."

"But, but the paper work?"

"Put it in my pigeon hole. I don't mind a bit of paperwork." With a last smile, Mark Runyon left Recovery with a sigh. Moving down the corridor towards the elevator the doctor made his way down towards the Wards Administration. The woman at the desk greeted him by name as he approached.

"Good evening, Mark."

"Evening, Josephine. Could you do me a favour, check which room a patient named Gibbs is in?"

"Sure thing, we still on for dinner tomorrow night?" Josephine started typing on one of the computers around the station.

"Wouldn't miss it." Mark smiled broadly.

"There are two 'Gibbs' in the system. One of them is at the moment in Recovery and the other is in room…616."

"616. Thanks Josie. You're an angel." He called back, turning back the way he'd come.

"I know, Mark." Josephine smiled to herself. "You tell me all the time."

* * *

Roy, Ducky and Peter had been taking it in turns, shifts, to stay beside each of the two bedsides whilst the rest settled into a few hours rest at home. Roy had been up to see the director the night of the bank capture, a daring feat for an agent no exactly high up on the chain of command.

_Running a hand through his blonde hair, Roy braced himself as the elevator doors pinged open. The walk down the corridor across the walkway seemed to take longer than usual, but the agent took a deep breath and pushed open the metal door leading to the outer office. _

"_Can I help you?" Asked the secretary behind the desk, looking up from her computer._

"_Only if it's to walk through that door there to see Director Morrow." Woah, sounded more confident than he felt._

"_I'm sorry, Director Morrow's in a meeting at the moment, but you can leave a message."_

"_Nope, that's alright I'll just sit right here and chat with you until he has time." It wasn't really a suggestion. He didn't actually have to wait too long for the door to open and a suited man to walk out. Lawyer, obviously. Casting a smile back towards the secretary, Roy caught the door before it closed and slid inside._

"_Ah, Agent Cadman. I read your report." Director Morrow greeted him politely, looking up from his desk._

"_Sir, I have a request."_

"_Yes, I read your request as well; it always helps to come in person as well. You seem to be learning from Gibbs." Roy gave a small smile at that. "You were a Petty Officer before you came to Law Enforcement, were you not?"_

"_That's correct, sir."_

"_Petty Officer Royce Cadman, honourable discharge, clean record, been working for Agent Gibbs for a while now."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Hmn, you're a good Agent Cadman. I'll expect you back on duty by Monday."_

"_Sir?"_

"_You did request to have this weekend off rotation, am I mistaken?"_

"_No, Director. I was thinking I'd have to fight my corner more."_

"_We look after our own, Agent Cadman, and our own's families. I'll see you and Dalrym back on Monday. Make sure you tell Gibbs I don't want to see him in this building until at least Wednesday. Thank-you."_

_With that Director Morrow cast his eyes back down at the papers on his desk. Roy blinked for a few seconds before making his way back to the door. Director Morrow glanced up as the door closed, allowing a small smile before professionalism returned._

Peter walked out from the elevator, making his way towards the Recovery Room. His fiancée had just dropped him off before heading off once more. Saturday afternoon. Usually he'd be living it up with his freedom and his fiancée, Natasha, unless he was rotation. Actually, Agent Gibbs' team were on rotation, but after Roy had squared it with the Director it was a calming day. He'd passed Ducky fetching coffee before returning to his post beside the still-sedated Gibbs' bedside.

Recovery was lit by a dim light when he moved his head around the corner, looking down the length of beds. A nurse looked up from her station.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asked politely, standing up and pulling down her bright pink scrubs. The name 'Marie' embroidered on her shirt.

"Yeah, I'm just checkin' in on Tony Gibbs." He informed her with a smile.

"Oh, right. You're friend left about twenty minutes ago. Roy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I'm Peter."

"Well, Peter, he's just this way."

Marie stepped out from behind her station, walking along the row of beds to one at the end. Which was empty.

"Uh, he was…he was here a moment ago."

"You didn't see him leave?" Peter already had his head flicking back and forth, searching.

"I only left my post for a moment!"

Running a hand over his face, Peter turned, jogging back down the length of the room, almost running straight into a doctor.

"Is there some sort of problem here?" He asked, politely.

"Well, one of your patients has gone missing, so, yeah, I'd say that was a problem, Doc." Dalrym replied, slipping passed the doctor.

"Marie?" Doctor Runyon questioned quickly.

"It's the young Gibbs, I left my post for a moment and he's gone!"

"Alert security, he can't have gone far." Runyon took off after Peter, his white coat flapping with his long strided walk.

Peter met Ducky as he came down from the stairwell, too impatient to wait for the elevator. "Tony's done a ducker." He informed the pathologist. Ducky's expression changed to grim. "Security's on the look out, I called Roy. I'm checkin' top floors. You can do bottom, right?"

Ducky nodded without a reply, turning tail to go back down in the waiting elevator. Runyon had already caught up with Peter's stride. "You know the kid?"

"Yeah, he's my boss's son." Peter's reply was clipped as he quickened his stride, checking each corner.

"Kid's a fighter."

"Yeah, he is."

"He woke up this morning, was quite adamant about seeing his father. I almost sedated him."

"It runs in the family I guess. Wait...if you sedated him, how did he get out?"

"I didn't sedate him, I just thought I should. I'm Mark, by the way."

"Whilst I do like introductions, Mark. I am looking for a missing seventeen year old. Call me Peter."

That more or less ended the conversation as Peter took the stairs two at a time up to the sixth floor, leaving Runyon in his wake.

The sixth floor had eighteen identical rooms lining it, the wide corridor letting nine doors on each side. The nurse at the desk looked up as Peter appeared at the top of the stairs, hardly out of breath.

"Yes?" She asked, confused.

"Has a kid just come up here? About five ten, brown hair, green eyes, kinda lanky."

"I've just come on shift, I wouldn't know." _Very helpful,_ Dalrym thought bitterly. Runyon joined him, panting slightly.

"You check the left, Doc." Peter more or less order, jogging forward to gaze into each room in turn.

Until he came to room sixteen. A still figure lay comfortably in the bed, his head turned towards the door. A second figure was hunched in a chair, a gentle shake in his shoulder, back to the door. Peter stopped, watching carefully, Runyon had seen him pause and was about to open the door, but the agent snaked out a hand to grasp his wrist, stopping him. The small voice from inside could still be heard out in the corridor.

"It's just…uhm, I dunno. It's kinda lonely without you I guess, dad. I don't think I like it much, it's like that Christmas you had to work on that case and, uh, I went to Annie and Roy's. It was good, I like them, but it wasn't the same thought you. It isn't the same without you. So, you gotta wake up, Dad. Not like you to sleep in, that's my job isn't it? Uhm. Yeah, I just. God, I'm whining aren't I. Yeah, sorry. I don't. Jesus, I uhm. Sometimes, I uh. Man, these hospital gowns don't give much warmth, right? C'mon, dad." The voice was getting quieter, more broken as the shaking grew in aptitude. The sentences were stuttered, whispered, jolted. Sobs? Pain?

"Has no-one told him his father's sedated?" Runyon asked softly, watching the scene with sympathetic eyes. Peter shook his head, ignoring his own warning and opening the door.

Tony looked round slowly as the door opened and closed.

"Hey, kid." Peter said softly. He could see the shaking in the boy's shoulders so instead of just taking a seat he grabbed one of the blue blankets which was neatly folded at the end of Gibbs' bed out of use and draped it around Tony.

"Hey, Pete." The reply was soft, the pain evident.

"You know," Dalrym began, crouching down next to the chair. "You're dad's just sedated, Tony. He got real worried about you and they had to keep him still. He's gunna be fine, kid. But, you. We need to get you back to bed." Dalrym had never been great around children, but since Tony was growing up he was getting better around his boss's son.

"No. No, I wanna stay with him." Tony's reply was short and jolted.

"C'mon, Tony. When you get outta Recovery we'll bring you in here. I bet when your dad wakes up he'll come and see you. Okay? You need to get better, can't worry yourself any sicker, and you'll pull out your stitches." Peter's voice was kind and calm. He rested a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"You've shown how strong you are just by gettin' here. Long walk up, and sneaky too." Runyon opened the door as Peter helped Tony out of the chair, guiding him back.

Running footsteps announced the arrival of Roy, who had just run up six flights of stairs and was just getting his breath back. "You scared us, alright, Tony." Was the first comment he made as his partner led the boy into the corridor with a helping arm around his shoulder.

"When's my dad gunna wake up?" Tony's voice was less than a whisper, but Doctor Runyon picked it up. "Soon, kid, soon." He promised, letting the two agents escort the boy slowly back down towards where he belonged in Recovery.

"Hey, Martha, call off security. Situation's back to normal." He called to the nurse at the desk, who had been watching the conversation with curiosity.

"Right you are, Doctor Runyon." Was her only reply as she picked up the phone.

Later that evening, whilst the lights around the hospital wards had been dimmed out Doctor Runyon leant against the nurses station of Recovery with Josephine and Marie by his side. Recovery only had two patients in their respective beds, but seven people occupied the large space. A bleary eyed boy was lying back against a mound of soft pillows with the two agents whom Runyon had talked briefly with standing on one side, a woman was standing close to Roy that Runyon would bet was his wife. The pathologist he'd conversed with many times on the condition of the Gibbs' boys. And there was the father, seated in one of the cushioned chairs pulled in from the nurse's station. He was leaning forward, one hand resting on the bed. His back was to the three medical professionals, but the soft murmur of conversation was what made them smile.

"It's good to see everything calming down." Marie smiled, resting her arms on her desk as the scene played out.

"Isn't it. I was getting worried about them, but they seem to be doing just fine." Runyon replied, sighing. It had been an eventful day.

"I don't think I've ever seen such a happy father and son." Josephine commented. "Where's the mother?"

"There wasn't one listed." Marie glanced up with a shrug.

"They'll get on fine together." Runyon said confidently.

"I hope you'll tell me the whole story over dinner, Mark." Josephine linked her arm with Runyon.

"Of course, this'll be a story to tell the kids. You coming Marie?"

"No, it's alright. I've got another few minutes of my shift."

"Okay, we'll see you tomorrow."

Marie waved her goodbyes, casting a glance over at the group again. Roy and his wife were just donning their coats, Peter following suit. "Rest well, kid." Peter's voice told Tony, even going as far as to pat the teen on the shoulder. Marie noticed the approving nod from Gibbs as they left, each giving Marie a smile or a wave at their own leaving.

"I, too, shall return tomorrow." The older Medical Examiner said with a smile. "You'll ruin your back if you spend all night in that chair, Jethro." Was his passing comment.

"Thanks, Duck."

Tony shifted his head in the bed, bleary green eyes fixing on his father's. A small smile curved the side of the boy's lips, a bruise on his cheek especially evident under the dim light.

"Sleep, Tony." His father's soft voice sounded, a warm hand brushing over the thick brown hair.

" 'M Okay, Dad." The reply was hardly audible. If he closed his eyes, his father might vanish. Gibbs smiled gently, easing himself out of the chair and pressing a kiss to his boy's temple.

"Sleep, nothin' is gunna happen to me. Rest." Those emotive green eyes flickered for a moment before gravity was reintroduced and they slid shut. Brushing a few strands of brown hair off his son's forehead, Gibbs sat back in his chair, one hand still resting on the bed where it had always been, the slender fingers of his boy clasped lightly in his own.

* * *

**Hmn, little longer, eh? Oddly enough, I haven't finished. I think I'll just keep going. I could do a sequel…what do you call the sequel of a sequel? A triquel? Well, I think I'll do a triquel, It sounds good anyway. It'll be a triad, unless I do four. Then it would be a quadrat. Too many things to think about. What do you think, since I do this for me own entertainment and yours as well! Was this good? Oh, and as some of you picked up, very well done, my medical knowledge spans as far as watching House and Scrubs. If I get something wrong don't hesitate to say, I might look it up but I may be wrong. Thanks for reading and replying I will get round to replying to you, I will! I shall reply to all the reviews I get now, because there is nothing better than a happy author. And this is long and rambling, enjoy!**

**Soul Music.**


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